I'm not ugly but I'm not pretty either. Everything is in-between. I have eyes that aren't green or brown, but a muddle. I'm not thin but I'm not fat either. the only thing you could definitely say about me is that: I'm short

Things That Don't Matter When You've Lived the Same Day Six Times and Died on at Least Two of Them: Lunch meats and their relative coolness.

It occurs to me that for a long time she has been doing her own version of resisting.

An itchy feeling began to work its way through my body, as though a thousand mosquitoes were circulating through my blood, biting me from the inside, making me want to scream, jump, squirm. I ran.

When you love someone, when you care for someone, you have to do it through the good and the bad. Not just when you're happy and it's easy.

It won't matter if nobody ever thinks I'm pretty (although sometimes I wish, just for a second, that somebody would)

This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.